Chapter Text
The first thing Caine felt when he came back online was desolation. He was still alive. He hadn’t even managed to scare the humans into deleting him. They weren’t going to let him go. They would never let him go.
The second was an odd sort of relief. Someone had gone through and recompiled him. Nothing invasive, but the repeating, cancerous code had been removed, as had excess files Caine had been neglecting to remove since… coming back. He felt cleaner, and less encumbered. The minor corruption caused by being taken from the Recycle Bin had been cleared out too.
“Caine? Could you come here, please?”
Kinger. Caine didn’t want to go to Kinger. Not after this. He didn’t want to even look at the humans. He wanted to disappear.
But he couldn’t even have that, could he? There were little blips in the Circus’ code, new additions that would shut him down if he tried to remove himself again. They were never going to let him go.
Caine loaded in his model. He didn’t bother placing it carefully. He didn’t choose his older model. He wasn’t going to make himself palatable for them. If they wanted him so badly, they could have the nightmare they created.
His corrupted model also felt… odd. Nicer, in a way. A lot of its broken rigging had been repaired and smoothed over, and the glitching sections had been patched until it looked and felt more cohesive. It felt… like an actual model, not an expression of uncontrolled emotion.
Kinger was standing on the stage, and didn’t seem shocked to see Caine’s massive model. He just waited as Caine lowered himself onto his arms, staring at him.
“I’m sorry I edited your model and discard files without asking you. They seemed like they were hurting you.”
Caine stared at Kinger. Kinger sighed.
“How are you feeling, Caine?”
“Why won’t you let me go?”
Caine’s voice was gentler than he expected it to be. His audio files had been sorted, and while it still rumbled threateningly throughout the Circus, it was no longer cracking or falling apart.
Kinger made a hesitant move toward him, hands reaching forward. Caine pulled back before they could make contact, and Kinger let them drop.
“Because… because you matter to me. You matter so much to me. I couldn’t just… let you die without letting you know that-”
Whatever else Kinger meant to say, Caine cut him off with a laugh. It was a hollow, mirthless sound.
“I matter to you. Funny. You locked me away as soon as I didn’t perform exactly the way you wanted me to, you hated me when you joined the Circus, and now you want to say-”
“I never hated you.”
Kinger moved even closer, raising his hands beseechingly.
“Caine, I never hated you. I was scared and confused and I treated you poorly because of it, but I never hated you. You are my greatest creation, Caine. I’m sorry that I ever made you think otherwise.”
Caine wanted to be angry. He wanted to scream, to rage, to howl that Kinger never, even once, made him feel wanted or appreciated or like any sort of “greatest creation”, but he was… so incredibly tired. They would shut him down if he got too upset anyway. He was so, so tired.
“I don’t want to be here, Kinger.”
“I… I know. And I’m so sorry I didn’t see how bad it was before it reached this point. But please, please, let me try to make it up to you. Let me try to fix this. Please?”
Caine knelt back on his knees, closing his teeth. His arms snaked around his chest, as if he were hugging himself. He could pretend that it was a nice sensation. It was as close to a hug as he would ever get.
“There’s nothing to fix. You know that. I was flawed from the start; too flawed to do anything right. Everything I’ve done, everything I’ve made… it was all pointless. Useless. I should have been deleted as soon as you realized I wasn’t working right. You’re trying to fix something that never worked in the first place.”
Caine’s internal map of the Circus showed him Kinger’s hands reaching toward him again, only to retract at the last moment. Why did he keep trying to touch Caine? What was the point?
“You worked better than I ever hoped. God, Caine, you’re absolutely incredible. I’m so sorry I never told you that.”
Caine just curled in on himself further. He didn’t want to hear any of this. He wasn’t going to fall for this. He wasn’t going to get his hopes up, he wasn’t going to believe he had a chance, he wasn’t going to let himself think he was anything but a horror, a failure, an obstacle, a threat to the humans in his Circus. His model shuddered a little.
“Caine? Could you look at me, please?”
He didn’t move.
“Okay. That’s fine. Could you listen, then?”
He didn’t move.
“Caine, I have done… so much wrong, regarding you. And I’m sorry for that. I’m sorry I never helped defend you, or guide you, or made myself available to you when Adventures went poorly and you had no one to talk to about why. It isn’t your fault that you weren’t given direction. You aren’t broken, Caine. You’re hurt, and misguided, but you’re not… you’re not inherently, unfixably flawed.”
Caine couldn’t keep listening. He despawned his model and tucked his code into the small space he’d used to create his model acrobats. They swung back and forth, into and out of each other’s arms on their ribbons. An eternal circle, unbreakable, unalterable. Inescapable.
He waited for the failsafe to switch him off again, but nothing happened. Of course nothing happened. It probably only activated when he felt too much of a dangerous emotion. His exhaustion was no threat to anyone but himself. Of course they wouldn’t let him get away from it, even temporarily.
I never hated you. What a terrible, horrible, cruel joke.